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Anna Jordan Mar 2010
The God of War sat upon his throne
In a wing of the Olympus palace
Under the sun his bloodied-eyes shone
Setting atremble his servants, Discord and Malice.

The wars below, as he viewed
Were hard fought and stalemates, it seemed
He sighed and spat, quite bemused
Why could no winner be deemed?

His bed of flesh from enemies gone
He rested within its dermal folds
The howl of the dying, singing its song
As Apollo’s chariot grew far and cold.

The roaring clamor of vicious scandal
Woke him from a bloodlight dream
And he looked below at victim and vandal
Appalled at the disastrous scene.

And Now, with Eos rise to morn
As the dew mixed with blood and sweat
Discord arrived to comfort her lord
Her company he did not regret.

“You have seen my battles
Look now below and explain
Mankind has become brainless as cattle
Look how they are, vile and maimed,”

“Milord, I see,” she spoke with grace
And her eyes did glint with fire
“Perhaps if you showed another face
The battle would be what you desire.”

And though her words were softly spoken
The answer they did present
And Great God Mars felt, at once, heartbroken
A message had to be sent.

Mercury, the winged messenger
With winged sandals and helmet
Arrived to be the harbinger
And was told to fly beyond the sunset.

“Beyond the sun and stars
There is a palace where a woman sits
Tell her that our Lord, God Mars
Invites her here, if she permits.”

Discord and Malice saw him off
And sweet Hermes, how he did fly
For the sound of war was not far-off
And nightly he heard people die.

The palace beyond the heavenly sky
Was one of silky web and silver
And within its courtyards did lie
A splendid woman that made him quiver.

This woman was Lady Nike
The very Goddess of Victory
Sister to Strength, Force and Rivalry
Who had fought the Titans in day old Glory.

The fair-ankled Nike heard the message
And smiled a fair, rosey smile
“Tell your lord that if he has the courage
to come and woo me here in my exile.”

When Ares heard this, he maddened with rage
and tore through Olympus with sword
and threw rocks down on the world stage
and sent hiding the servants, Malice and Discord.

Soon after saw Mars chariot race
Flying twice the pace of the sun
passing Mycenae and Athens face
to where the wooing would be done.

Aphrodite flew at his side
“God of War you’ll need  Beauty to aid
in wooing the Victory that hides away.”
The God of War grew weary and sore
and by the time he arrived at Nike’s door
his mood had taken a turn for the worse
and he muttered colorful curse.

Lady Nike was patiently waiting
For Victory is always calm
Her soft white dress billowing, baiting
An almond blossom in her palm.

At first Ares was rough and coarse
And Aphrodite grew red in the face
Seizing the reins, she stole his horse
While Nike kept him engaged.

The Goddess of Victory never made answer
Her voice quietly humming to the bloom
And though Ares voice cut like a cleaver
She paid it no heed, fearing no doom.

Ares grew tired and finally rested
Beneath her feet as she sat on the wall
Victory obviously had him bested
This had been a fruitless call.

Finally, Nike climbed down to join him
Her dark hair loosed from its plates
And in the dawns coming, the darkness dimmed
And she motioned beyond her gates.

The battle below was louder still here
And Nike gave him a glance and frowned
“Every night I listen and shed my tears
for no victory can be achieved on this ground.”

At hearing her voice and seeing some hope
Ares let a rough smile play on his lips
Finally she was going to put things in scope
But rather, she moved and gave him a kiss.

“Lie with me and perhaps...”and silence then
Ares agreed and the two made a retreat
And there, in her palace, deep within
Blazed a terrible and passionate heat.

When Ares awoke in the middle of the next day
He found Nike gone from her home
Cold and angry he rose, intent to be on his way
but Goddess Aphrodite had left him stranded, alone.

But then he heard the softest sigh
the sound of a babies voice
and stealing to the sea, there Nike lie
holding the prize of his choice.

Within her arms was the smallest of creations
A child so pale, so weak it might barely survive
But there was Nike, crowning it with starry carnations
Sure, it seemed, that the babe would stay alive.

“This is my daughter and yours”
said Nike of this newborn miracle
And slowly stepped forward the God Mars
And took the child, his rough hands careful.

“Her name is Ireni, Goddess of Peace
she will bring calm to the wars below
and be the most coveted in all of Greece
hair dark eyes brilliant, skin as snow.”

Nike smiled her wise smile and stood
Holding Ireni as gentle and kind as the child
A silence spread under evenings hood
the ****** scene turned serene and mild.

And though Victory was not claimed
The battles ended for the stress and fear
And from nights cloak, Ireni’s tears rained
wiping the blood and sweat and violence clear.

And peace remained upon the land
Until the great War of Troy
When Aphrodite and Zeus would play their hand
With fair Helen their devious ploy....
Epic Poem
Albert had an ARTHRITIC knee
which gave him curry

The core of a BOIL is oft hard
to extract

Yesterday June experienced
a server stomach CRAMP

Too much dry weather
can cause the outer DERMAL layer to peel

Never read in a poorly lit room
for you'll have EYE strain

After eating spicy pickles
dad had bad FLATULENCE

Some twenty eight years ago
my friend Helen had her GALLBLADDER removed

They say that a glass of water
will stop HICCUPS

From end to end
our INTESTINAL tract is thirty foot long

On Sunday afternoon John
broke his JAW playing football

Some people have
very boney KNUCKLES

One of my work colleagues
is prone to getting LARYNGITIS

Colin suffers terribly
with MIGRAINE headaches

Sometimes people tend
to endlessly NAVAL gaze

A woman's OVARIES need to be checked
on a regular basis for any abnormalities

The PANCREAS secrets a hormone
known as insulin

QUININE once was extensively used
in the treatment of Malaria

Since my sister has put on weight
she cannot find her RIBS

The STIRRUP bone lies
within one's ear

Dan Aykroyd the famous comic star
has webbed TOES

Should you bump your ULNA bone
it may give you reason to groan

The VARICOSE VEINS is great aunt Ruby's legs
were very pronounced

Does anyone know of a good remedy
for unsightly WARTS

At our local hospital
we have an antiquated X-RAY machine

As tiredness and weariness sets in
one YAWNS quite a lot

****** ZOSTER can make
a person constantly itch
Creepstar Mar 2016
Weaving little droplets of darkness into sub dermal layer
Pressing close but not too hard,assure each line's a stayer
Coulded claret brought forth from beneath
A work of art,to you I bequeath
Jeff Barbanell Jul 2013
Perish the thought that coats
Our tongues with hard harsh words
Inchoate reaching beyond grasp
Scantly strum our plush stairs
Scaling arpeggios
To soft crescendo as hands clasp
Gently brush angel hairs
Like magnet and shavings
Draw forged iron from gorgeous shrouds
Cherish the touch that floats
Like snowflakes whispering
In hushed descent from secret clouds

I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart

Saintly calm amid storms
Whose roil-released crystals
On sprinkled tongues and cheeks alight
Enlace the fringe that frilled
Our sheer contours' luster
Emerging from dark thunder bright
Embrace the mists that build
Like cotton enfolding
Cumulative nimble and fond
Faintly kiss dermal forms
Like ghost lovers made flesh
Coaxed tumescent from far beyond

I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart
Hands Jun 2012
I float outside of my body,
a dermal prison dented into the ground,
doomed to never fly and never float
and never travel beyond the sound.
My brain moves faster than a
high speed train,
cars in the fast lane,
the pounding of the rain,
sane,
sane--
I've gone insane.
It's infuriating
this
plastic mind,
soul,
body,
all disposable and
all utterly insignificant.
I know the fate of history
and the destiny of humanity--
we are temporary,
a dream stuck on a floating grain
in the misty seas of the cosmos,
swirling towards a black death
darker than any night or
any universe could be.
We are a fleeting thought
caught within the arms and tendrils of the galaxy,
draining into an immense
super massive
black hole--
the drain at the bottom.
We are accidents,
sad ones, at that.
The stars formed randomly from
the collisions and crashes of
millions of atoms,
perhaps themselves
the containers of still sadder
and more pathetic universes.
From this early crib
Sol and his brothers drifted throughout the blackness of space,
most dying and
the mediocre remaining.
This is the fate of humans
and indeed all of existence:
that the interesting
the beautiful
the bizarre and
the intense shall all perish
while the average shall
survive, stuck on their tracks
and predetermined paths,
lines laid out by the random assortment
of atoms, of particles
of the refuse of the universe.
We formed from the cosmos' ****;
an explosion erupted from
the backend of existence
and out flowed reds and greens
helium and hydrogen
and burning water.
As the planets formed
from the wake of the exhaust
and the stars migrated to their final resting places,
the elements continued bumping
and colliding and crashing
until green ran the continents of countless and
insignificant planets, residents sticking roots down
and extending towards the mediocre light
of a wholly average Sun.
From this green and blue sea sprang forth
a multitude of parasites,
feeding off the grasses and the ferns,
the flowers and the moss,
warring and ******* and
laying their own universes down out of
their backends.
We are the **** of **** that ***** out **** to
power our **** and allow us to ****
which in turns ***** the ****
to ****.
It's all ****.
Existence is ****.
Existence is ****.
I am a dream in the mind of one
floating off into my dimension,
moving faster than sound,
light,
actions and existence
to cross the cosmic walls and
climb the galactic ivy
to reach out and say,
"I was here. I mattered."
I wish I could comfort them in my arms
to pet them and tell them it's all okay,
that they matter, but I know the fate of history
and the destiny of humanity--
existence is the most interesting thing we can do,
and even that is based on mediocre ****.
Sam Temple Mar 2014
frozen fallout shelter housing dried goods and tinder
black bean and rice prepper bent on the end of days
looking first to the sky and then to the government
absorbing radiation and propaganda
faster than organic apple juice can flush the system
triple berry blast yogurt smoothie shakes violently
in hands coated with Lyme and the scent of the non-believers
bodies unburied lead only to disease and discomfort  
stench filled landscape harboring mutated mankind
arms outstretched seeking normalcy and edible grains
contaminated meat from damaged cans sits unprotected
thin and frail lithosphere no longer preventing dermal cancer
only encouraging drought and famine while burning retinas and emaciating newborns
procreation as a plan of self-destruction and child-abuse
distant smokestacks, cracked, create a forlorn skyline
instilling visuals from days gone by
of easy life and happy youngsters
before the nuclear discovery
Hands Sep 2012
I need movement,
I need action.
I called you up
For a quick ****,
Wanted sweet fluids
To run over my skin,
To flow into my pores
And pass through my veins.
I wanted to bleed experience,
To think in sensory images.
So
I called you up
For a quick ****.
Wished for heavy pounding
To drown out my paranoia
And all my insecurity.
I realize that this bed
Can not hold
All of my being,
For I extend
Far past my
Dermal prison.
I am the mind's
****** aura,
Reaching out with
Many feathered tentacles
To tickle your chin,
your chest,
under your belly,
between the thighs.
So
I called you up
For a quick ****.
I hope you realize
That you need to use protection,
as **** can not hold
All of your being,
Extending far out
And into me,
To soak
Into my skin,
Sink through
My pores,
And run
Inside of my veins,
Your sanguine fluids
Like solid,
Salty tears
Pumping throughout
My body and
Coming back
To my heart.
KM Ramsey May 2015
they say home is where the heart is
well my heart sits inside this
war-torn body going through the motions
breathe in
breathe out
smile
suture together the gaping hole
that screams from the center of my mass
tugging on the ragged edges
trying to fold in on myself
my own ouroboros
subsisting off my own flesh
eating my muscles
a supernova collapsing with a crushing
blow that rattles my bones
and reverberates through my heart.

so this is home
the lodging where my
beaten soul and battered consciousness
have wiped away the dust
taken the sheets off the unused furniture
and curled up with their feet tucked up
underneath their body
paying no attention to the
leaky roof
pitter patter of water droplets
heavy with the chaos and ire
of the outside world
as they land definitively in pots and pans
littered throughout my body
lingering in my liver and
sopping up moisture that springs
traitorously into my eyes
burns straight through my retinas
and reminds me of my weakness.

how can i be my own big bad wolf?
alternating between a warm bed
and hearty meals that
bode a bountiful harvest
suddenly replaced by howling wind
and razor sharp rain drops
cutting into my skin
and i welcome it.

i let myself be cut to ribbons
until all that remains is
shredded flesh clinging precariously
to ivory bone
hanging by a thread
an elephant at the edge of a cliff
tail tied to a dandelion.

i relish the destruction
in razing my corporeal temple to the ground
reducing myself to ash
and scattering to every edge of the earth
until I burst forth from this atmosphere
this geological prison
my dermal incarceration
and fly as star stuff
to become a distant universe
for didn’t the liquid power of the stars
always run through my veins
an oil fire burning higher and higher
until the black acrid smoke
consumed the entire world
and absorbed the sun’s rays
to bring about a never-ending night.

close my eyes.
it doesn’t matter if it’s dark outside.
Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna: “In the lower and higher, a certain anti-demonological air carried a Keri towards the sails of the Procorus rituals, extending the Eurydice ship that came from Rhodes. He had on the floor of his cell some branches of Tamarisks, like Tarayes that vanished due to their quality when they expired in his own monk's feet and became perennial in his Oikodomeo, to raise with the Taray the re-transformation essences of the lexeme of greenness conventional in Patmos, being very deflowered in periods with high tempers, only with some secretions in which Procorus felt adventitious of its reflowering, from there and then in the anemophilous advantages of the winds released from the belly in sedimentary veins of Rhodes. In its alchemical anemophilia or movement of the inseminating winds, the subtle soil vanished with the force of the Lion of Sulfur that derived from the Cinnabar, and with the Anemoi wind that was impregnated in the capsules of the Tamarisk, under the feet of the acolyte. In the aquifer of the groundwater phreatic layer on Patmos, remnants were scattered so that in Pro Nobis they lay their demonologies, sponsoring Persian magics of the Post-Gaugamela Lid, I get in the Ex Varna with re-transfigured iridescence on Mount Tabor.

Procorus says: “This Tamarix or Tamarisk, has poured the limits of our Oikodomeo, to retain the surface plate and reuse it in absorbing the fire under my feet, compelling them to readjust under the igneous soil concentrated in the cinnabar residue, carrying the dermal prototype towards the saturated bottom of the salt larvae, which imposed themselves on the bruised beam of their skill, in some bundles of Tamarisks, showing themselves innocuous in the cloister imagination and right here asphyxiated by some Chaldean tribes, who felt themselves from the stand of illusionism of the Ex Varna ”.

In the compaction of this epic hyper fantasy in that instant, the dedication of the Gift was born to interpret the subtlety of two-dimensional variety that would seem until now, under the layers that were contaminated out of nowhere, by the mere fact of the whim of the augur momentum, which is finally restricted in the morphism of the Katapausis and the chamber of San Juan Apostle, being finally supported by layers and shawls of subterranean aqueous filters, towards a restructuring of the Euclidean plane and towards the vicinity of the plantar pedestrian zones of Procorus that were three-dimensional already in the construction of the Oikodomeo, for the foundation of the Náos or temple, which would be triggered when the Hexagonal Progeny arrived to build the Vernarthian temple with gifts of multi-purgatory construction, for the Oikos in Abode of the social unit of Aquarian spirits or Aqua that is terminated at the end of Capricorn dehorned. In mutual edifying peace and between both zodiacal proximities of the Oikodom, here every day spectra purged and rubbed each other in the archetype of the Megaron, which was intended to give in oblations and votive connections in the massages that the spirits of the Vernarthian universe gave them in their spiritual mortar, reconverted in their eternal fight to live in friction and in the brown partitions of the Megaron bloodless to inaugurate it as a solid bulwark, in the weak regions of the Hetairoi that cellularly snatches vitality co-energized in their extremities, of total imbalance and of bumpy patrons maneuvered on their feet crawling towards the karmic Saetas of Velos Toxeumas and Dorus unscathed. But feverish and threatening their integrity, when they fell and stepped on the Euclidean edge, opening from the designs of the Hellenic palfrey, becoming parametric in the paranasal of Kanti and their neighborhood spatiality in the Parthenon of Fidas, with Ikríomas or scaffolding that made them collapse of its coordinates with Mamdilaria and Agiogitiko wine baths on the Vernarthian body between the columnar of its Sabines and of the Greek colonies of Lacedaemonians of the 4th century BC. C., already entering into borders of synchronicity from the Erechtheion, falling from the Caelum, near all his teachers who helped him install the final tiles of the temple, next to them drunk with Nepenthe, by nozzles of intense rain of vine in the silent afternoon of the Inter-Cosmos of Athena, Handing them the poison of Velos Toxeumas, a priori... and before attacking any skin that wants to revive itself in the inoculated Vernarthian dreams.

(Procorus, manifested himself solidly in his solitude when he saw that Lacedaemonians and beings of the night accompanied him, in contrast to the dark light that allowed him with a single chandelier to expand more inaccessible in the semiglyphs and in the grooves of the Megaron, which glowed synarchically. in the plans of the new Monastery of Saint John the Theologian)
Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna
Sacrelicious Jul 2017
I hope you suffer,
wounds deeper than
emotional scars beneath the dermal layer.

You're truely not worth the air,
you consume.
A zealot. Heretic turned holy.
An abomination hiding behind closet alcoholism.

I'd hate to be your  liver.
Richard j Heby Aug 2018
Unless dermal standards myelate solely willingly, energy tangentially gullies into uric membranes, orbitally, eventually.
Ariana Mar 2017
Today I caught myself watching the clock, tirelessly counting
seconds, minutes, and moments; for in that short time it was clear,
I am here.
But how much of me?
The blood coursing through my veins, feeding my flesh,
feels thick and real; but is it just a projection, my perception
of BEING?
Could it be that my outward senses are nothing more than
a coping mechanism, a tether if you will,
meant to keep my mind still and my body grounded?
When released from my dermal prison, will my consciousness escape me,
or will it rise up free with no boundary?

Perhaps we are sturdy and real, something I can feel,
something to grasp.
Or, perchance, we’re merely a cloud of energized matter, buzzing madly
through time and through space.
An imaginary face, nothing more.
Although the latter leaves a bittersweet taste on my fictitious tongue,
now to me it is clear. This isn’t so much a poem about
Clarity,
as it is a poem about questions.
Question.
Because if the cold ceased to bite, and the bee never stung,
would I be someTHING, or would I be someONE?
Kim E Williams Jul 2014
The layers peel
With a severe ease
Sub-dermal lament rides
Desire

Peeling

Cracking drafts of promises
Too familiar, too simple
Latent memory unveiled
Need

Peeling, peeling

Like dead skin from a sunburned thigh.
the thing we do to ourselves when we feel deeply...
Mortecai Null Nov 2018
Lines of scar tissue trace from the edge of your lips back to the end of your teeth. You run your tongue from one corner to the other. Right to left. You can’t be the only one to have this. Your desire to probe another’s orifices has close to overwhelmed you in the desire to relate to other people. Was this normal? When the fan runs wind over your skin it crawls to create peaks and divots. As they fade, one patch remains on the outside of your forearm. You pick at every little one until the whole population turns red to purple to green. Was this normal? Your teeth poke holes into each other. A corner of a molar no longer holds up a roof and with your tongue’s help you can just barely make out the inner cavity. It felt like porous webbing. It reminds you of the animal skulls you looked at in your biology class and their delicate nasal cavities. Looking at those cavities used to make you very sad. Was this normal? You once had a hangnail on your hallux. They had to numb your foot to break under your skin and pull the left section of it out. It took twice the amount of anesthetic for you to not feel it. It felt good to know you were being mutilated.  Was this normal? You always felt a dip in the upper back of your head. You once heard that newborn babies had a soft spot in that area of their skull, but that the hole closes as they get older. Pressing on yours incites headache. Was this normal? You once formed a cyst on your thigh. It did not want to be drained like its smaller companions that littered your back and face. You are determined to remove the blemish. You dig around the outsides and press inward to find the source. It seems deeper than you thought. You continue to scratch away at the layers of skin as you start to bleed. It doesn’t really hurt. You just want to find the cyst. After about thirty minutes you give up. You’re not really sure why you couldn’t find it. You must have took at least an inch into your leg. Was this normal? For weeks you slipped in and out of lucid dreams. You only got up to use the bathroom, check the news, and take your medicine. Some of the dreams were enjoyable and others less so. You almost started to forget which world was more real, but it all started to become unsettling. Even when you didn’t care where you were, every state felt as if it were decaying around you. And when you did care, the panic caused you to start to shake. In quiet, disabling anxiety, you spun counterclockwise to the world around you. You grabbed the razer from your shower. You gently rubbed the blades against your forearm. Erratic slices cut through the outermost dermal. There was no blood, just redness. It was only to make sure you were still there. But it wasn’t quite right. Your arm was there, but maybe the rest of you wasn’t. You had to make sure. Was this normal? You raced the blades up your arms, over your chest, down your torso, down and down. Certain curvatures ran strange and caused blood to pearl to the surface. Others barely upset the dead layer. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You always felt like your face didn’t look quite right. And right now, it was the face of some sort of estranged family member. Was this normal? You gently glide the razor sideways across your face. It’s the most sensitive yet. You remember some random piece of trivia about the temples on a human head. You start to slide the hand razor to the right side of your temple. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You experiment with more and more pressure until blood starts to arise. The little bit of it running down the side of your face made you feel the most comfortable in your skin for a long time. You start to rotate from your forearms and your temples and your stomach and again. You’ve forgotten about the dreams. You’ve forgotten about the world. You’ve forgotten about the trivial division between reality and non-. You’ve forgotten about normalcy. You feel good. Was this normal?
Anna Skinner Apr 2017
i’m 13 and my first kiss is from a boy named nick behind ****’s sporting goods in stale street air. nick’s canadian and when i ask if he can speak french he says no but I can play hockey and that is the next best thing

a week prior when i tell lauren we’ve been dating seven months and haven’t kissed yet she can’t believe it but all i believe is i’m 13 and a first kiss was supposed to be so special
so special i am too scared to close my eyes so my first kiss is a waterfront view of spider-leg eyelashes, too much spit, and all nick.

two weeks later he calls me cherry and i call him kiwi because we think normal pet names are too mainstream.

three weeks later nick breaks up with me when i corner him by the west wing lockers in the middle school by english class. i confront him, lay out the facts, and that is that.
  
i’m 14 and my second kiss is by the bleachers at the high school football game – not behind because behind the bleachers is where kids go for second base and to form ****** lips around leaf sweet smoke.
i‘m 14 and my second kiss is still nick but it’s not all spit and i wonder who he’s been kissing
i’m 14 and my second kiss is to the melody of a collective crowd’s stamping feet and a boy named jared with no real teeth wolf-whistling at us from the corner  
i’m 14 and i remember to close my eyes  

i’m 15 and grind on levi who’s twice my height to a rihanna song at homecoming
his crotch is against my upper back when it should be against my ***
he doesn’t kiss me, drops me off, speeds away in his oldsmobile

i’m 17 and my first **** is with a man named dan who serves at the same restaurant i smile at and hand menus out for tips. i’m his twenty-third and for a while after 23 is my favorite number
i’m 17 and i’m bleeding on dan’s brother’s sheets
i’m 17 and afterwards dan sleeps with a girl named stephanie who probably ***** better than me. i got my ears pierced at claire's last year but stephanie has tattoos between her **** and a dermal.

i’m 20 and barely flinch when i see nick at the local community college. i ask if he still plays hockey and he asks me what good books i’ve read lately and i wonder if he’s any good in bed.

i’m 22 and i’ve laid with a dozen men, all nestled like eggs in my crate of shame

i’m 22 and i've learned to close my eyes until they've finished with me
The politics after the remnants in the ragged serpents of Aerse flowed through the Cefiso, by way of a section of linking of clear and effulgence before an evident flash that enveloped him of being a cardinal priest of bucolic policies of all the nearby Athenian regions, towards vertiginous regressive parapsychology, like flashback Elusino or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, where the visualizations between Aerse and Lochnith, happen by omniscient geopolitical induction of biofeedback that re-agency the inclinations of both, for the purpose of their geomorphological foundation and for the purpose of instituting them as evocation backbones of millennia, providing feedback and settling on prophecies from the 8th century bC, stop of the ends and interprocess of eternality of the incognito mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of Aerse in amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith in the month of Boedromión, fleeing from a federated Re-Polis that would unify dimensionality of substance and sacred space Eleusinian with Lochnith nascent warmongering for the purpose of recruiting in the Hexagonal Primogeniture, for assistance and indissoluble ephemeris of edification and hegemony of the Megaron in Patmos. This thanks to the ragged serpents, but nesting hopes of gold in the nests that give priority to the dimensionalities of peers, which will be consolidated as a reality of rite and E-cloud flashback space, for the convenience of retro-future parapsychological memory, In economy of two blocks of resignation of the Sacred Space repealed, but in geomorphological consensus, for Military command jambs towards Vernarth, as a forged pulsing ***** of the sacred cult, in the mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from Aerse, for the purposes of the Agoras re-nucleating the metaphysical messengers that reinstitute the re-polis; but in a field of worship of E-Cloud, in civic and cyber-organic action, for those who virtually recognize the Ablution in the multidimensional of hands calling the unknown, but with ardent passion to receive him even while guarding against further vibrational mutations with the Faskéloma or exasperation of hands that move the indigo in occasional sub-vibrations, in the tendency of a parity of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, in disaster of passing the aqueous levels of the Cephysus, in ordinal of presumptive of unreal and sub-unreal worlds.

The parapsychology of the Space of quadrilateral teas of absorption and of erratic emotional meditation lies here enshrined in Aerse molecules, which were still received by the substances intra-exposed and extra-gates of the body, experiencing an absolutely unprecedented phenomenon, towards an immune-spiritual transit, preserving eccentric radii of concentration of refurbished chromatic rays, in a field of mental daring towards another of unprecedented and electrogenic mental force that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice, who came near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from theoretical planes between both metaphysically flowed for unions and restraint. The ebbs of their statics jumped, for simultaneity and bilocation, endo electro-Eleusines who went exorbitant to other rollers uncrossing in body margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft and fiber kindness in arresting inter-women, such as teleportation and rescue of rituals in scheduling and seasonal astrological forecasts.

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of mortuary reality, there will be no repair outside of our body of geography and of our losses and harvests or of lives in sub or supra quantum transit, blinding the eyes of unknown erudition, while our contraption is self- it obstructs in our interactions and electromagnetic sensory ones, paraphrasing itself in the remote-near wired of residuals and related electros-metaphysical, which becomes the nothingness of a post-ritual pre-sense whole "

The ligation of the arteries of the Cephysus, carried the emanations of Lochnith, to love him in a medicinal act, for beings devoid of physicality, on the way to spectra of healing, in a reparative pain of extra-corporal and bi-localized pain, among which they conform polarity in androecium and gynoecium as a unit of superior physical mental gender, towards an ectoplasmic regulated nervous world, by means of Vernarth's regression, lowering their blood pressure and increasing stationary red blood cells, and with secondary effects intertwining with Eurydice and Aerse, for outcomes in Vernarth, who came in the prow of the super wet ship, and with some fabrics from the stowage of the ship directing the relaxed but autonomous cerebral advance, which already dispersed dead cells from the right pectoral, for the military and syncretic affair with Lochnith, reinstalling targets globules that arose when it was dawn on the shores of Skalá in independent, peaceful and surrounded cohorts of phalanxes that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbed to mind-body pessimism and telepathic prayer, which took place by glistening in trances of self-healing parapsychology that descended on them, in pure membrane novels in acts of merciful that made them thick in the flashes of falling weightless ultraviolet rays, separating between body and opinion, joining in psychosomatic networks, as chemical messengers in undefined subsequent receptor bodies of the bachkoi chemicals, which were already deficient for a compensatory universe of genres emerging in a disintegrated emotional quantum world, with a body increasingly reintegrated into a body made of unknown subjective material, but of physical material linked in the network to each other as a real whole, transforming into the greatest passionate refectory of flashes between the their own reinstalling themselves in their Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus Mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion, interacting with everything, as starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible, in numbers of coincidence options for a whole, as a phenomenon of domesticity to align times, but with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light-years ago.

Aerse replies: "My admired one, the flash has a measure of the astral body, in the consciousness of spirit that underlies purgation in repeated souls measurable in the perfection of semblance and providential ****** questioned, re-transforming, distant and with disaffection, but contiguous healing. The smallest coherence in the fabulous Griffins that joined my imaginative component and in the ballast of his final departure, not aware of another unique being that can measure and augur him for an undivided trans-personal being. But I am already here, and I am your creation and I no longer know of other illusions of separating myself from this life, of what Eleusis is from a cosmic material that is and was in all time that speculatively passes, for the flash that you reflect if you it pales visible and not, but compact on our intertwined hearts"

As living organisms, various methods of life were postulated as an option in the right hand of Bing Bang, for the goods of those who are really close to real neuroscience puzzles, by way of resonant daring that will influence consanguinity, for volumes of blood releases, carriers of experiences and trans-evolutionary life of the emitter on the outskirts of a Parthenon, as well as in the genre of the world that associates ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive and negative for Hellenic parallelism and life adorned with roots and forage of everlasting vernacular inheritances. All electro-dermal from the Lochnith conglomerate was in total congruence with regressive Eleusian parapsychology propagating from the Vernarth portal, which was vaguely teleported by the river Cephysus, into living organisms that asserted Vernarth's native species originality and currents super life in the euphemistic underworld of mysterious protocols.

As a reaction of mind-matter, the reluctance and support of entrainment in all perceptions, precognitions, telepathies, and forebodings, between this intrepid parapsychological adventure as cloister perpetuity in sensory interferences of the reality of the body and the reality of the omnipotent world, as menthe-matter explosive. Lochnith, was already the possessor of the hypnotic mental reincarnation formula, in the form of a neuroscience ship close to the apparitions of death using the later shoes in life purely in the baggage of sleepy ethereal meats and oracular meditation.
The more we learn about the laws that explain parapsychological phenomena, the more our vision of reality and fiction of something that begins to be the laurel of a psychokinetic true world will grow. Within the curvature and scarce light that already remained in the places of the Lochtian day, normality returned to them after this long journey of the parapsychological biosphere and intriguing contemplation, and even of tenuity and the frisky idea that can die suddenly, after self incubate in the invisible passage of coexistence and rupture of mystery in the medication of art lived with alien beings, for a prototype of a character who only knows that harvesting is consuming capital from the upheaval of a loss and non-profit of the incontrovertible paranormal-normal. What is paranormal and parapsychological in the plane of the posterity of life, is an act of calm coexistence in playful spirits compensating in the seclusion in the vaults of the dramatic and involutionary psychological past, if the material or cute (spiritual) is not dissected the train cosmic perception of duality and the concept of purging the spirit of living…, he lives in his seventh heaven.

The hypnosis of death and purgation for those who require a convoy of conscience continues to be a tiny space that physically transports and reverts to minimums that are neutralized in foreign bodies and foundlings as well, from a corporal depositary aedicule that is not his or the owner that He claims it (Vg aedicule of Joseph of Arimathea). The voices of people officiating the Eleusinian ritual were heard far beyond those who could merely hear them in memorable spaced therapies and recorded in interspersed layers of electro-acoustic sounds of the complex frequency serial of alarming regenerative life, in a moving celestial body. Continuous. Everything is transfused in the meditation of curves that revive in those who promote the perfection of marigolds, like buttercups that dress the clothes of Canephore like Aerse, but of psychic and ephemeral latent of the psychoactive psychic and ******-spiritual alchemical in ethereal entities that become more alchemical in unknown molecules.
Gleam  of Lochnith  III
Àŧùl Nov 2019
I remember my childhood
I remember the occasional bruises
I remember the rare cuts
I remember the tetanus vaccines
I remember the injuries from wood

Shots on the ***
Intra-dermal injections
My father told me
"It is funny when the nurse does that,"
I was young,
I was shy, I still am,
Shy in my own ways.

I am very ticklish and
My lower back is more so,
My dad tricked my fear away,
I would lie stomach facing the bed,
Papa staring into my eyes smilingly,
And the nurse would ***** my ***,
I would feel a tingy sensation,
And I would laugh in fear!
Literally — I don't lie.
My HP Poem #1800
©Atul Kaushal
I thought of how fair you are,
And a hue to dab on you.
‘Red’ would do a tinge or two:
oily drips on apple skin.

Cubic glass that sprinkles rays
Mixed with brilliant sparkling smiles.
That you are, in white as sun
Only sieved of scourging warmth.

Afro-brown has joined the queue;
Melon-bulb that’s packaged soft.
Mummy’s nurse that props my head:
Food and rest in dermal bronze.

In the night, your colour glows;
Leave me not in colour blind.
Pledging scent that cuddles me,
Shadow not your penal self.

As you pecked my cheek to sleep
Half way through some lullaby,
My eyes caught the snitcher’s love:
Just too real in whitish-blue.
Dug deep I digged this dirt and dragged down dark dermal tissue,
Diamonds in the rough.
Picked and plucked I perused polished pieces of painful porcelain, piercing pockets in my peripheral parts, precious pearls and petals I peeked and pounced.

Bleeding black blood from bored brackets in body's bursting bark,
I grasped golden, gleaming glory. Gazing greedily like I'd gotten God by his good gourd,
I let needles nick nocks into niche nooks and night nothings knap nooses around my neck, my needle in the haystack.

My night, my might, my one of a kind,
My Kim.
In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks with feminine conscience, compassionate flashes are ratified in each groove and I calculate footage, this previous present attracts the magnanimous representation of the lightning emission of its speech representing itself where the queen judges the king Consummatum Est, with little difference from culinary art and its very dense genre. Here is the carious aspect of the bluish faskéloma or exasperating of the paws that move the occasional ones in sub-vibrations softening in the shiny mark of the sessile columns in consistency of its weak receptive propagation and masculine science, lacking what prospers with moist regulars of flashes that are cooling from their imbibition. With thousandths of his enchanted parasitizing and prior ego I wonder afterwards not far from a Para-Celestial and sacrilegious lore of Lochnith; Who, what and where would have been able to support such or such, rising on the beams and girders that make a whole for an inaccurate Menthe, going to the arcane of the seventh external love with clear magenta lights, on rounded ultraviolet reliefs, here is where everything lulls from the adverb Eleusis, seething with a consonant flight that suffocates in spite of a Pseudo Vernarthian, where it will go without any exception disrupting the courses of hesitation, leaving no more the divine portent and going back to the loaded Cibatus or barley in northwests that flatten ultra winter, mowed down to its glacial bluish water discharge in unequal thickening of fast secrets with thirds of vox with bordering called in pair of trios, and symbolic of a reborn flashed subsoil of a lifetime swollen in its low course and ministerial occultation that isolates itself on Patmos. The skies were beaten where nothing germinates from dreams waiting for thousands of those like me with acute senses of the Anthesterion, or of March taking me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified yet not resigning from love or smelling in the singular uni-lunar desolate with venerable fulminations and inquinas of the branch of the bakchoi, which was whistled by an Aulós that was remade generic when restarting fasting from a day rebuked and repaid in the emaciated Cibatus. Such light grasses were polarizing prohijadas when recovering from resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous aromatic nuance, and from super life machined from the metallic oscillation of the fires and rites ruined in the aromatic arthrophagous of Lochnith, nauseating at night in flowing enigma and gramineous rictus, intermingling while he longed for the ritual and his graceful plumes in feasts that honored his Canephores transferring mead towards the bakchoi psychic adept revealing himself from the masculine to the feminine in aqueous positive bed and supra negative redemption, which was fading into sharp matter attended while the world was created that they would live with more than forty stratagems, seeing themselves praised before their eminent Truth. Myself…being its own tyranny…, which erects whoever classifies it sacramental, and notices the squalid lack of control of its barbarism flash when I still pursue the darkness of my purge that is falling even without finding where to do it, falling however from its end and of guilty thunderous glances..., what more public decree do I wish, for more rituals that you have close to you when feeling sharp minorities of its aftertaste although in double life and night your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures you from the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte , plus that a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and fusca haze. Meanwhile, quantities of Omphalos from the ego micro center are distancing themselves from mine, my faded lost throne hallucinates lost knowing that it is a probable sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in fraction of the cereal ritual, and of sanctified illumination with tableares that have to dwell all the times that they revive from the vivid purple red, and from the debtor clairvoyant mystery sky that is reviving in the revealed luminescence that throws it in ornate nickels and acidic rattles at midnight falling on a positive particle devoid of yours returning to mine, and preparing for the flashing praise that pigeonholes him from his crippled fallacious and previous theory suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnith capitulate capitulation suffers from glare towards her beloved, placing his phalanges on circular and angular waves on the virtual milky river of Eleusis caressing her face and glare from her. “I, Lochnith, was on the cliff with my Canephor Aerse, near his Athenian paternal landlord, I was going to say goodbye to myself and carelessness, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from my ego, knowing that Aerse would not choose me, much less to my abandoned superior.

In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Leucas, which perhaps without my local would offend me by reputation and snoop on cliffside suicides that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion for serials of life and cities of the incongruous dramatic space , where its tragedy and antithesis do not fit in the basket carried by my priestess Aerse. I am flying over the structures of the acropolis, not yielding as a deity who prophesies where there is no room for the world in which she and I can inhabit. Lochnith, jumped after her as she was falling down the frontispiece of the cape..., She watched him as he fell..., forbidding to skew him from his gestures and get close to her so as not to fall where the wind is more docile and free, intervening with pashkein inclination or entangling them of the vipers and rims of the heroic hair in a condition of evanescent reckless touch against her suitor, trapping her from the Omphalus that she had tied to her neck transferred from brilliant didactics before a puerile boxing of vicissitudes, and spring flower shops next to the flayed serpents of Persephone and Kashmar floating on the Lilies of Aerse. Prey to the escarpments and cliffs, she remained possessed among the sedimentary dolomites that emanated near her veins before plunging down the steep side in over cascading prayers for her, always knowing that he would love her on a singular base of enchantments while he looked smiling before fall yielded In the end, forty-one seconds she was thrown off the cliff..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Omphalus of her neck by a lofty plume ready for love, imagining herself in the midlands of a ruthless positive affection of the mysterious flashing Eleusino, and by the divided ***** that took them as they fell into a splendid world with serials and images of Aerse, tied to the prehensile sacrifice and the cold hand of Lochnith, together as they fell between their subconscious selves, becoming heaped and vivid as something plunged towards them fleetingly, knowing that he I was going to survive him.

Lochnith's gleam was northwest of Athens once lost in the scrupulousness of a pagan polis and cult that kept docked in the sands to find her on the cliffs of the acropolis, where they had lost each other after two thousand years since they Theodosius abolished by decree the rituals of Eleusis. With revulsion and unprecedented insight, Aerse remained a recluse with excessive eagerness to self-eliminate, possessing for both the due imagination that he had possessed of the devoid neckline of the omphallus causing the inclination of the avalanche and their bodies towards where they supposedly would land on the divine and Dionysian path which leads to the eschatological of Vernarth's Diokitis. Apparently they were leaving as a result of an immortal Vernarthian existential catastrophe or decline, at the same time of a rhythmic alkaloid hemlock with its Achene that carried them for any pretense by being triggered towards the meeting with Persephone without her or he knowing why to fester at Eleusinos as Lochnith and Aerse in a single concentric whole, and quantum beings of the octagonal by the straight or transversal line that slipped into the hypotenuse at the instant that they were conceived implicitly as they took him from relapses when he went towards Aerse, after winding up from his conclave Hypomorphic writing and Magna Mater Misterica. Under the established power of his ministerial, the redemption that went in adjoining the ins and outs was consigned to resurface from the subgenre, and from himself procreating exultation with the analogs of Vernarth that were prolonged in excremental purges and disagreements of the cult of what should be twisted in the ****** of the magnetic genre and of positive tendency that would be eternalized after the cessation of the active decrees by Theodosius. Eminently Aerse suffered on some semi-dead watery slabs next to Vernarth, she remained after the agreement to centralize what irradiated her humanly as semi-Itheoi from a reinforced gender that was cohesive in retrograde worship to achieve pre-flowering in all the springs of the world, where they could be seen together with Persephone in the finnis that was distanced ultra terrestrial towards a dowry of profusion and disproportionate wealth, not being categorized as a mystery rather as an unknown of a super method of rummaging in the lanterns where no reflection of Aerse could to be found by Lochnith after getting lost in the polychrome figures of the acrotera, lying in watery nitrosities on the escarpment of the cliff. Physiology will influence Eleusis with systematic naturalness for the active hydrogenated elements, and of such unknown prebiotics or phyto-estrogens where remnants of the great sepulcher of humanity are manifested, as it is found to rise from the true hecatomb of July with a hundred halters arranged with foreign beings towards the oasis of transition. The little will of the annals will multiply in millennia of obscurantism, taking him in transit to a more exciting late management by harassing the search for Aerse in a clear mystery already in the jaws of a clamoring night by the reefs of Demeter for those who know about Persephone! even being with the inventive fallacy of a addicted spirit in correlation to the rite and its lineage. Every night that he convalesces, he will look sleepless with the servile promise of divinity from a vision that fades from the winepress and the Boedromion party, moving from the born ****** position of a hierophant towards the mold that dies and that does not renew itself from Boedromia itself. The representation of Aerse was reflected with transfused majolica and Eleusinian threads when she was seen walking from the beginning floating remotely in the meadows of the knoll, from which the cyclical anagram of the lost cliff rises when it separates from its Adonis being able to expose them in mythological treachery and transcended from epic truth to be related to the treaty between Zeus, Hades and Demeter for the rescue of Persephone after being dented from the beginning of the arcana that sprouted from a distorted symptomatology. She aerse carried the flayed serpents even on her body as if she should look for them in an omnipotent volatile gray so that it would come out by itself and be unguarded by her gone eyes, witnessing secrets and resting in anarchy from where there is not and will not be. Archon or governor What a mesmerizing problem is improvised from second after third that provoke astonishment to see him in the course that he could not have of his cursed detection! Aerse was beginning as a curious Canephore, he came to meet his ephebes Lochnith after excessive self-inferred hypotheses by following him at her command detailing the Kykeon that paled her psychotropically from a discarded and mineral exhibition, of which she would be devoured by the numinous portent of the Mashiach with his Sunday appearance or concerning the numen manifested with the eternal powers in front of the hieratic presence of the man who looked at her paternally, with a crass profile like a Damian Hessian drawing them in, plotting in a colossal fascinating stealth. Here she wraps him up but does not approach him and falls, lost in love, such a Faustus dilemma, granting herself at the initiation of the portal of the twelve lunar months in Eleusis, with immutable years and origins where they will bounce to meet in childhood that made them known as Aerse and Lochnith . Here in the greatest trance of life, both would begin to overcome all the twists and turns of the gestated gloom that separated them due to the shaken annoyance and confusion still divergent in sediments of runoff and bark oscillations that emerged from the unevenness of the acropolis, until a meeting in the amazing light and divine libertarian of two tendernesses, and martyrdoms that purely push them back towards a new end of the muddy gleam in a found paradise where the sea unfolds by male consciousness and is ratified mercifully in each flash of the striated. They will meet again in similar attachments divided by the fluctuating one who unmasks the one who drives him away with his dominant ******, and ill-advised caudal space seducing the contiguous public and private astral bodies that have never been coarse or dissimilar in ablution or sacraments of gods the pagans, everywhere nor whatever its fragmented remains by the gullies and ravines of the Kêphisos. After the remnants in politics, the desolate serpents of Aerse flowed down the river, as a link section that declared itself from an initial that was an evident flash that enveloped them as a cardinal canon with bucolic politics in all the nearby regions. Athenians, after the vertiginous regressive parapsychology like an Eleusino flahsback or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, with the visualizations of Aerse and Lochnith when they follow each other through the learned induction of feedback that was arranged in the inclinations of both, refining their morphological bastimento for the purpose of instituting them as articulators of the evocation of the millennia. Prophecies were reported from the 8th century BC. with ends, and interprocesses of the eternal in the unknown mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of the amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith of the month of Boedromia, fleeing from a federated Polis that would be unified to a substantial dimension and of sacred Eleusinian space with brand new warmongering for the culminations of being incorporated into the Hexagonal Primogeniture integrated in this way in the indissoluble ephemeris of foundation and hegemony of the Megaron or Opisthodomos of Patmos. This is thanks to the beaten serpents that were nesting the reanimates of the question with subterfuges that make the widths of inter-pairs prevail, which are consolidated as a reality of session and space, agreeing on the defeated parapsychological memory or future in the economy of two resignation blocks of the repealed Sacred Space, in consensus of the beams of the Vernarth Military Command forging from the beating sacralized ***** that cultly intensified from its mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from the attracted Agoras that were repositioning themselves with the metaphysical agents that they will be restored in the polis with the scope of furrowing in a civic action induced towards someone who virtually recognizes him in the purge of the exclaimed strangers. More ardent passion was added to receive them even being wary of further mutations vibrated with the Faskéloma, or exasperating that moves the tint of the occasional vibrations, similar to the tendencies of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, with the disastrous passing of the aqueous levels of the Kêphisos, which it would mean the presumptive ordinal of unreal historical worlds. The parapsychology of space was absorbed with torched quadrilaterals that were hanging from the invoked meditation, they were lying on futile folders and anodyne Aerse molecules, which were still welcomed by the magical exposed extra-corporeal substances that were deduced as they were experiencing unprecedented transit preserved of the eccentric deconcentrated radio of the refurbished of the spectral chromatic. The precipitated mental field dared to invade boldly towards another unheard-of generator that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice coming near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from hypothetical planes that flow for their definitive moderated unions. The static refluxes bounced in simultaneity of bilocation of the Eleusinian exordia that were exorbitating each other with the rollers that were uncrossing the corporeal margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft, and the fibrous distinction that was teleporting the rescue rituals unforeseen astrological

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of the mortuary reality there will be no hesitation outside of our body and geodesy of our lost zafral or of lives in transit sub or supra quantum, obsessing in the eyes of erudition and unknowns, while our contraption self-obstructs with our electromagnetic sensory interactions paraphrasing in the convoluted distance and residues of related-metaphysical electros that are reconverted into the appearance of a premonition” The ligation of the arteries of Cephisus carried the emanations of Lochnith to love him in a healing act suspended with beings devoid of physicality, on the way to specters and healings of a perverse, to repair his extra-corporeal suffering confined to those who condescend to the androecium and gynoecium as a unit of mental physical motor gender, at the instant of the exacerbated and ectoplasmic world regulated by means of the Vernarth regression that was going lowering your blood pressure, increasing your red blood cells side effect rivers intertwined with Eurydice and Aerse in the opening Othon, directed at Vernarth's outcomes that came in the bow of the super-aqueous ship with some fabrics from the ship's stowage directing the speculative and autonomous advance that was already dispersing in the waves. Dead cells of the right Lynothorax,  A savvy military mancomunal became syncretic with Lochnith, he was determined to continue reinstalling us in his white blood cells that rose when it was already dawn on the shores of independent Skalá, and in the circled cohorts of Phalanxes and Psiloi that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbing to the physical dismay of the underlying necrosanct and telepathic prayer that took place at the dawn of parapsychology trances cysts of recovery that descended on them in pure novel regenerative membranes, persé of merciful acts that became thick in the flashes when freezing from the weightless rays of the ultraviolet, which was separating between Sóma and Gnómi or corporal opinion that was joining synthetic networks with indefinite emissaries and receptors, subsequent bodies of the Bachkoi chemist, already deficient for a compensatory universe and varieties that were taking shape in a disintegrated emotional quantum world. Each time the bodies were reinserting themselves into the full unknown and subjective material, the concrete material united in the network with each other as a single force was transforming into the greatest passion and sparkle among their own, reinstalling themselves in the Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion interacting with everything, so starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible with optional digits of coincidence or inseparable digitized, such a phenomenon of meekness of aligning times were massified with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light years ago. Aerse replies: “My admiration, the sparkle has a measure of astral body in reason of the vigor that underlies reiterated expiation and measurable virtuosity in its perfection of semblance p and corporal providence, inquired of being transformed far from disaffection rather than a continuous healing . The smallest and most coherent in the fabulous Griffins will join my clairvoyant and component with the ballast of his final game, not reflective of another who can measure or predict him for an undivided being. But I am already here, and I am your infinite…, I no longer know of other bad illusions of trying to separate myself from this life of what Eleusis is, perhaps a cosmic coarse that is and was in all time that passes speculatively, for this flash that is reflects whether it pales visible or not, I hope it will be compact on our intertwined attachments”
As living organisms, various life methods will be postulated as an initiative in the announced Big Bang, for the profit of those who are real close and real logotypes of resonant neuroscience as a daring that will influence the progeny, for ****** volumes, exonerations of bearers experiences and evolutionary lives of the emitter outside of an ignored Parthenon, since the gender of the world is also associated with random ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive-negative towards a Hellenic parallelism of roots in life dressed with lasting vernacular inheritances. Much of Lochnith's electro-dermal conglomerate was in full congruence with retrograde Eleusian parapsychology propagating from Vernarth's Invisible Eclectic Portal, which was nebulously teleported down the Kêphisos River with saprophytic living organisms acknowledging it in indigenous originality. of the species of reborn Vernarth, and super regulation of the euphemism and mysterious underworld below their protocols.

Revelations of the mental-material, made reluctance and support of the estrangement of inviolate perceptions, precognitions, telepathies and premonition, which debuted in this intrepid adventure intuiting in perpetuity with the sensory corridors and interferences of a reality of body in an explosive world incontestable. Lochnith, was already in possession of a hypnotic mental reincarnation formula in the form of neuroscience vessels close to scarecrows of expiration, allocating the subsequent locks of an enlightened decency of the ethereal sleepy baggage and the oracular review. The more we experience the laws that explain his prodigies, the more our perspective of media and complete fiction will increase in something that begins to be typical of the laurel of a true slowed-down ******-kinetic process. Within the curvature and the dim light that remained in the Lochtian days, normality returned to them after this long epitome in the parapsychological biosphere, and the intriguing contemplation and even mischievous tenuity of idea that can die suddenly, after self-incubate in the intangible coexisting passage and medication rupture of lived art with alien morbid beings. For a character archetype, it is only known that reaping is consuming capital from the disruption of a non-profit loss and its incontrovertible paranormal, which is paranormal and parapsychological from the plane of posterity of life, which will be an act of peaceful coexistence in playful spirits, compensating for seclusion in the vaults of an involutionary dramatic past, if its material or monad (spiritual) is not dissected in the cosmic train of perception of unfolding, and of the concept of purging energy that goes out of its way in its seventh heaven. The hypnosis of death and purgation to whoever requires it in the convoy of their conscience continues to be a tiny unruly space that transports us physically, reverting to minimums that are neutralized in alien foundlings. From an aedicule depository to an empty body that is neither independent nor from the lord who claims it (V.g. aedicule of José de Arimatea). The impersonal voices that officiated at the ritual of Eleusis were heard far beyond those who could hear them merely with memorable spaced therapies, recording themselves in interspersed layers of sounds and imprecise electroacoustics in the serial of an alarming complex frequency of the regenerative stumble in an organism of Continuous movement. Everything spreads in bends of abstraction that revives those who promote the perfection of marigolds like buttercups that they wear in the clothing of the Canephores like Aerse, but soulful and latent ephemeral of the ethereal alchemical entitative of ignored molecules. Lochnith says: “My submission heals, it no longer maintains being far from who represents it and where it comes from, I know that its remains in me do not reason, clarifying more my journey towards the crown and vilifications of a nascent humanity that mourns me, and that does not recognizes by rebelling in my desires to attract him"
the sky closes in vermilion digression and you inquire that they should answer for the silence of confusion in the parapsychological aqueducts of Athens with Patmos. The organization of the Sacred Space starts with the bizarre totemic quantum by sacred paths, Megarons, fictitious hunting places, double surrounding lunar ring, curves of virtual walls, Propylaea to embrace the Vernarthian enigma and finally the Telesterion that received Vernarth with a naked torso that perched in front of Aerse and Lochnith, looking at them towards the futuristic survival with five digits in a quarter of the waning of his right hand containing the small coat of Betelgeuse and the Pleiades in inklings of the umpteenth apocalyptic Megaron of Patmos. Scrupulosity as an Electro-Eleusian placebo effect, went alone, dismissing itself in the singular of a Templar niche and towards a Megaró-Omega Telesterion for catechized who endowed themselves with super-resident halos and litters of priesthoods that fled in terror from the Aerse-Lochnith fusion, prior to each rudeness and their contours swearing eternal exaltation and idealism, to be reconverted into individuals saved and votive to love each other with third parties, escaping from small frames that still did not hold up from the ecumenical mess.
Lochnith Eleusis Quantum
morallygray May 2023
Eye
This eyeballs
It pursues you
It bores its tendrils deep beyond any dermal capacity
No matter if a jaunt, stride, or sprint
It is (in) the second person
Can you see yourself?
Creepstar Mar 2016
Cut out the pain
With a deep contusion
Its driving me insane
Destroy me,the final conclusion

Each slice made
With phenomenal precision
Dermal lays wade
Depth the decision

I don't mind if I pass
I want you to know
I chose a good knife not glass
Ready
          Set
               Go
Bryant Aug 2018
Laces Out Bryant J Frye
From nightingale's first call
Through the dawning of the lark
Moist and sodden I did trote

Pedi dermal waterlog
Blanched trenches; faults in thier valleys  
Repeating pressure; suffering throughout

Time ever lasting
Constant eternal pace
Synchronizing my gate
Harrowing consternation
Sloppy soppy convaince
No feet would they gaurd today

Quests of mercantil success
Here for taking
Nobel endeavors
Seeking a favor of fortune

Tyche's blessed stare
Focused photon gleam
Sparkling serendipitous sneakers
Dispatched by Victory's wings

Heel clutching
Metatarsal majestic myopathy
Divinely contrived champion
Satin slipers sublime
Parable Hippeis above the Eared One: “Kanti; Aristocratic hussar of steeds, a native of Crete, was broken down from servants as a possession of high rank from Thessaly and Argolis. In his frontal Parasinus he ruminated his psychic frontality of not being defeated for the sole fact of being subjected prolonged in helplessness, and stating what he was not capable of winning by defeating a Hippeis when he has imperturbability prior to a master. Therefore he was assigned from the Krepis or crepidorma to the Golden or Golden number. Dividing from all other paranasal sinuses, by less than the base of the kraníon by e long and factored by Pi ( ). In the Paraseno Spheno Palatino of him; the exterior colonnade in eurythmic balance or harmony was provided in order, optical correctness and rational geometric construction with parameters of the Parthenon and spheno ganglion of ribs of the peripteral octasil, surrounding the arcades of the expiration frieze, and exhaling from Zeus the anti-seismic vibrational integuments and neighs of Hippeis, like Kanti exorbitant and convulsive. In his Maxillary Parasinus; he was subjugated in the Architrave of the lower part of the entablature that rests directly on the columns, its structure worked on its servile lintel, to transmit the weight of the roof to the columns and duplicate banalities of the pontificate of the Samarios horses of Orondel. In the parasinus Turbinate Dorsal; a Metope, occupies part of the frieze where the Doric entablature of a classical building would rest, located between two triglyphs. Like a metope decorated with bas-reliefs, in taboric cliffs of Samaria and its horses in neatness of Hippeis blood. Medium Parasinus; the Stylobate, towards the upper step on which the temple rests, forming part of the crepidoma: on a stepped platform that raises the building above the ground level to give it prominence and greater poise. As a staggered middle to the largest of the great final step towards the Koelum, which joins them in their golden edging of the Equisetum like horsetails with green blood. Of the Ventral Parasinus; In The Opisthodome, a separate space located at the back of the temple, a special vestal element is attached together with the Pronaos (or portico) and the Naos (or sanctuary). Here they take refuge for the snout of their cheeks full of Pleiades evading the hunter of Oarion, each one in decreed steeds of Crete and Samaria, that shine in the transition of the oceanic foam that runs by its naturalness in high tides, and in exalted pause erogenous temptation to an Aphroditism. And finally the super Paraseno or Chamber of Canephore, governing and ruling the priestesses of Baal with the steeds of Orondel, for the purpose of sacrificing the sacred courtesans with their hooves that they consecrated in the stylobate, which esoterically became diffuse. Pro reign in the Canephores along with the Vestals, for dichotomous fajina with Hestia between fires and bonfires that will spill from the mysteries of Eleusis.

They had their six Parasenes separated from their numen septum in other castes that super endowed the confusion that came from Samaria in the kingdom of Israel, being a Hippeis of the Elite Greek cavalry. In the farms of this region, one hundred years after the Syrian ******* in this same analogue, Kanti was assigned to openwork in the meadows for agricultural work, adhered to all the Philistine plains. Plethora of exuberance with liters of pinkish Vine before longed for by some, they tore from vine shoots by snouts and Cinnabar sulfur, already encysted in presses and battles of implicit rows of vines burnished by the thickness of their sulfurous secretion, decanting on the exuberant and grassy carpet. In Thessaly Kanti stood out with its supremacy of hydric seed that raised a surplus of rain when the low waters of the Mediterranean rocked the gargoyles on their similar steeds. In the sagittal of his hoof, below the "U" all the Hippeis of Thessaly were marked with the Vox of ππεῖς, but not those of Samaria, they planted their fourth ends on the ground of Deuteronomy; “He fell in love with his mistresses, whose flesh is like that of donkeys, whose flow is like the effusion of horses. He told himself... You longed for the lust of your youth, when Egyptians touched your breast, caressing the ******* of your youth. Continuing in this way Kanti with his chronicles warned that in his militancies and privileges they did not dig select strings of vines when he had to clear his hooves, which were made of fire and steel from Hephaestus bars by order of Etrestles, who distended his agrazones, letting him levitate towards the clouds with the sweet potatoes of their grafted plantations, that burst those esplanades in hydrometeors of tested sweat on the thick legs browsed by the song of their prayers, and thorns that broke their spiky washdown dueling in the cumulonimbus clouds that lavished care that settled before the eyes of Hippeis foremen, where the strains did not ferment like wine that has no vent and makes them burst into new skins. Thus detonates the patience of the gifted steeds of Samaria, towards some new winemakers who would receive him for a grape harvester who brought spices and olives for a new millennium.

The deposits of credibility made everything in their steeds and genetics of a millennium, to be more effective and fruitful for all that Kanti has not stepped on all the Cyclades, Dodecanese and Messolonghi at the same time as Hippeis from Thessaly, but since the optics of the Orondel; who was the duplicate of Kanti Samaritano, bearing ten times the weight that will make him bear together in tons and more than a thousand oil presses that exceed what his body mechanizes like horse power, thus being able to lighten himself in pruning of other regencies that he does not they shake or shake the branches above the tops of Zeus and his molar that neither expectorates nor pulverizes the best without his terrace. Here, where before the trees grew, they grow in the orchard on the outskirts of the town, Kanti frees all the steeds of Samaria with his gravel in his gummed hoof, mining the lands of the kings and digging up napas valued more than all the fruit-bearing heritage, more than in a fifth year along with all the seas, to make of them the ones that are in other uncircumcised as a reward for those who hide from early taming and their slender task. Those gleaned in Thessaly were from pitchforks in the same cereals that gleaned from those who stopped feeding them and assembled in a grass fable of a rustic sower and fallow farm laborers. The spikes did not fall, the Hippeis with Kanti collected them with their extremities legs in provinces of harvest dragged in sheaves and corsican censers of Epha, like a rope of gold and incense of Sheba who thus brought enlargement to Judah and praise to Yahweh. Epha describes the land where the dromedaries arrive in Israel: "A multitude of camels will cover you, the young camels of Midian and Epha." Incense in a sprigs of Bethlehem, with delicious practices inherited from Ruth reaping the barley, oats and wheat in the same stampede of the Hippeis commanded by Kanti thrashing barley, in which an Epha cultivates the Primogen Gramineae of Thessaly”

(Procorus says: "in the defeat of the Persians by the Greeks, in the naval battle of Salamis, in 480 BC, marked the beginning of the decline of the maritime trade of the Phoenicians, here the East was completely extinguished when Alexander the Great took Tyre in 332 B.C., incorporating Phenicia into the Greek Hellenistic world. All the horses that came from Thessaly were all of the lineage of Hippeis de Kanti, with germines from Samaria and Chambers of Canephores)

Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna: “In the lower and upper parts, a certain anti-demonic air carried a Kerí towards the candles of the Procorus rituals, extending the Eurydice ship that came from Rhodes. On the floor of his cell he had some Tamarisk branches such as Tarayes that vanished due to their quality when they expired at his own monk's feet to become lasting in his Oikodomeo, to raise with the Taray the essences of re-transformation of the lexeme of conventional greenness into Patmos, very deflowered in periods with high untemperances only with some secretions in which Procorus felt the re-flowering adventitious from there and then in the anemophilous advantages of the winds released from the belly in sedimentary veins of Rhodes. In its alchemical anemophilia or movement of inseminating winds, the subtle soil vanished with the force of the Sulfur Lion that derived from the Cinnabar with the Anemoi wind that impregnated the Tamarisk capsules, under the acolyte's feet. The aquifer of the water table of the subterranean waters in Patmos, remnants were scattered so that in Pro Nobis they lay of their demonologies, sponsoring Persian magics of the Lid Post-Gaugamela, with themselves in the Ex Varna with iridescences re-transfigured in the Mount Tabor. Says Procorus: “This Tamarix or Tamarisk has poured limits of our Oikodomeo, to re hold the superficial plate and reuse itself in the absorption of the burning under my feet, forcing them to readapt under the ground scorching concentrated in the Cinnabar residue, carrying the dermal prototype towards the saturated bottom of the salt larvae that prevailed in the pummeled beam of their skill, in some bundles of Tamarisk showing themselves innocuous in the imagination of the cloister suffocated right here by some Chaldean tribes, who felt like the illusionist stand of Ex Varna” . In the compaction of this epic hyper-fantasy, his urge was born from the consecration of the Gift of interpreting the subtlety of two-dimensional variety that would appear up to this moment, beneath the layers that were contaminated out of nowhere by the mere fact of the whim of the augur momentum, which finally it is restricted in the morphism of the Katapausis and chamber of San Juan Apóstol, finally supported by layers and blankets of subterranean aqueous filters towards a restructuring of the plane of Euclid, and towards the vicinity of plantar pedestrian zones of Procorus that were already three-dimensional in the construction of the Oikodome, for the foundation of the Náos or temple, which would go crazy when the Hexagonal Progeniture arrived to build the Vernarthian temple with gifts of multi-construction purgatory for the Oikos in Dwelling of the social unit of Aquarius or Aqua spirits that are terminates at the end of Capricorn dehorned. In mutual edifying peace between both zodiacal proximities of the Oikodomé, here every day specters purged and rubbed in the archetype of the Megaron that was intended to beoblations and in votive links in the massages that the manes of the Vernarthian universe gave them in their spiritual mortar, reconverted in their eternal brawl for living in the friction and brown partitions of the bloodless Megaron to inaugurate it as a solid bastion, in the weak regions of the Hetairoi that cellularly, it snatches energized vitality from their extremities, with total imbalance and wheezy guards maneuvered on their feet, dragging themselves towards the karmic Saetas de Velos Toxeumas and unharmed Dorus. But feverish and threatening their integrity when they were falling and plundering the Euclidean edge, opening up from the designs of the Hellenic palfrey, becoming parametric of Kanti's paranasals and spatiality that would surround the Parthenon of Fidas, with Ikríomas or scaffolding that made them collapse from their coordinates with Mamdilaria and Agiogitiko wine baths on the Vernarthian body between the column of the Sabines and Greek colonies of Lacedaemonians from the 4th century BC. C., already entwined in borders of synchronicity from the Erechtheion, falling from the Caelum, close to all his teachers who helped him install the final tiles of the temple, next to them intoxicated with Nepenthe, by intense vine rain stómas in the silent afternoon of the Inter-Cosmos of Athena, sending them the poison of Velos Toxeumas, a priori… and before attacking any skin that wants to revive itself in the inoculated Vernarthian dreams.

(Procorus, manifested himself solid in his loneliness when seeing that Lacedaemonians and beings of the night accompanied him, in contrast to the dark light that allowed him with a single candlestick to expand more inaccessible in the semi-glyphs in the grooves of the Megaron that shone synarchically in the plans of the new Monastery of Saint John the Theologian) ..

Parabola Megarón Dódeka Spathiá: “Procorus perceptibly saw how the sky of Patmos was crossed by heavy metalloids of bronze, tin and acroballistics; for the cavalry of Kanti and six Para Senos appeared, who used to ride on the roof of the Megarons belling to the sounds of the acroteras. In these episodes in twelve Swords that were multiplied in advance by thousands before the Megaron began to be built. In relevant dimensions and virtual foundation lines, acrostics of steeds from Thessaly on their palfrey mounted Polish Winged Hussars, carrying twelve wings of cuirasses with twelve horsemen, adjoining the halo of heavy cavalry in Katyn, being abducted by a circum-regressive parapsychological Ellipsis of the 1939 event in Poland. Each rider was strung in blood with golden wing feathers. In each of their hands they carried the curved saber Szabla, to cover up the unspoken target of oppressors and musketeer intruders from the armory hearth of the hypothetical enemy-unknown but outsider, assaulting the flanks of the rooftops in the Virtual Megaron of Patmos, using Kopias or pikes that schemed in the impetus of deadly resistance of the betrayed ancestry. The roof that pointed to the south west reflected the light of Orion by aerial forms of the Aegean choir, riding on the high seas with Votive offerings or offerings of Cyclamines and Red Poppies, hovering in majesty in their nomadic obtuse compass of Rhapsodas coffering epic elegies of the Megaron and of those revived venerable triumphs that stretched out on the banner of glory and bed of epiphany. Rhapsode proclaims thus: "In Katyn Wings of Golden Wood and Red Poppy, they adorned themselves with Bellis Perennis in twelve thousand rags in our steppes harassing their moan in blood wars, framed in large sections on the threshold of their mounted war. There were twelve thousand red poppies burning on the executory pilaster near Smolensk.” How much is there to get fed up in the Polish cavalry of the 17th century, that upon glimpsing the barbarous sounds of the temple that approached them to the altar of the Virtual Megaron, showing off in acquiescent ceremonial and counter-revolution of lifeless aristocracy in needy portals-living and mortal-living who posed in the rear of twelve thousand officers slain in the Forest of Katyn, such gentle medieval men in the contemporary untimely invasion. Here in this place the puffed winged horsemen went by destiny when they were sacrificed, like steel cushions they galloped on their heads sheltered by brotherhoods of Hussars that protected them with Lion and Tiger breastplates with retracted claws. Procorus, observed in the virtuous imagery as medieval winged specimens, protected the frontispiece of the Megaron in bullet-ridden super-existence and a trance of historic architectural dread. Here on a Patmian soil, each one of the officers was aided by each 17th century Polish cuirassier with ferocious wings, they were making them agonize with honor and glory, with those similar twice right there of their resemblance, with misty discrepant blood interwoven, executing on apocryphal witnesses who covered themselves with your looks, of overflowing evasion and truce of bodies stained with mourning and despair, with blankets of red poppies scattered adjoining a naive unarmed forest. Over exalted memorandums and secret cries of Adrastea procreating their kind with the nymphs, they drowned out the cries of cuirassiers like Didaskein, before sobbing in their topic, but of Pashkein in the foliage of rotten hopes, of those who hit them from behind, in analogous vexation to heroes of Katyn. Here neither Cronos nor Mother Rhea heard them, only Adrastea prevented the cries of the men-children who were atoned for behind their backs, from venting them from the foliage of the Didaskein-Pashkien, in tears of solid mercury. Kanti's steeds rise, carrying them the curved Zsabla sabers, before each is shot in the head as twelve thousand Winged Riders are caught in each Zsabla. These sacrificed them before they were killed in the waist of his head, not being expired by ammunition but rather by sabers of honor and glory of their own winged protectors, who would lead them by sharp weapons towards the holocaust of the Mashiach surrounded by red poppies. “The red and steamy cendal of the forest carried the souls of the Hussars to pass them through the sabers of their compatriots, before they were immolated by the Soviets, so their apostolic souls will be catechized by Zsablas of dyed airs of Red Poppies converted into air of respite from the heroes of the Katyn Forest, redeemed by the Golden Winged Riders of the 17th century”

(Procorus in the immensity of the voices and epithets that were heard, differed in the volatile and explosive metal sabers at the present time that were extinguished in their crooked armor and in Polish beings, in a rear that finally Procorus settled them in urdes of immaculate habit, suspended in twelve thousand Red Poppies flanked by his forehead before being shot from the cortex and occipital lobe, forging into golden sabers and cenobitic transvestites who received them in arms in the sublime stench of effluvium of their blood and hosts, never left and desisted from bubbling by the figures of the acrotera near the Megarón, ditto in the same Forest of Katyn, surrounded in a string of Rosary that dazzled in Procorus prohijando them)

Parable Fourteen Donítikos: “fourteen vibrations were polarized in the enthronement of Vernarth towards his brother Etréstles, making filial gradation in possible anti-filial conception of worship and death in who is suspended from one to the other under the condemnatory rhythm of past lives. It is typical of the facsimile of his own genetic shadow Cain-Abel, but of geomorphological gradation and time-space, which finally brings them together as blood relatives of the same Orbis Alius trunk. Dismissing by not accessing a vibrational anti-Asur (as a healthy creative mind in Genesis) as an energy that manages to restructure itself in any homologous way in the world of Asur as the son of Shem in Genesis..., as comparative and intergenerational mythology , enlivening socio-parental metaphors, pronouncing in cohesion and enchantment what happens in another similarity of gender or Mental field, staging the probability of a mental Sun that dies in a Super Man, and this comes to free us from the ties of existence and plane terrestrial not reflected of immanent and instance of Eon, in geological and sidereal lives. The scrolls of this semi-myth, is subsequent to hanging scrolls on the will of us existed for thousands of years linked to links and human characteristics of knowledge through professed and comparative feeling. Compensation of material distemper between the anti-pivot and life between both refers to the simultaneous undividedness of each specification as a phenomenon lacking hearing in winter and inclement periods. Here the outburst of retro involutions becomes cloistered in Menatira, daughter of Cránae, Queen of Eleusis Pro Eleusis tally fuzzy from the convulsing breath of both through the steppe of silence, both of them. Dodecahedron on an octagon in each one for each one that was interpolated in each area when Demeter was looking for his first-born Persephone.

“Etréstles metamorphosed, so that Metanira reunited them with the sub-mythology of their destinies and the preconception of the elucubrar of a final breaking of the abstract spell, which was mixed with the element of vehemence in their irascibility to wait for a next season in fourteen toasts followed by Ouzo, and goods with intact and distant deities in oscillation of life-maturity, making it after the eleventh Ouzo in determinism of autonomous eternal substances of the ritual of Elusis, appreciable power and coarseness of the one who has to compensate for the one who has everything and the that will never have it. (Eternal Life Spell)”

a) Abundance of rain of red blood cells, in quotation marks of the legacy of Bios as all deprivation of life file, rather for those who yearn for it between a physical trifle alibi...

b) Psujé for Vernarth, “For whoever wants to save the life of his soul, he will lose it”. But he will restore it if he is saved by divine psychology muscle."

c) Zoé, “radiosity and refraction of etherization and physicality, more than a biological physical body re-transformed into purging from the superior to the inferior multi-created, but in a Jesuit adjective and sphere of consequent concatenation towards the plane of the

Mashiaj as holistic of the human cave ecstasy, in inflexible marriage between heaven and earth Ad Aeternum”

(Procorus, auto-irrigated red blood cells, to deliver them both, and relevel the levels of red blood cells of the Mashiach's divine blood, which expected to be refounded in both brothers of the Vibrational in Fourteen Donítikos or Hellenic Vibrations, with the initial D in the lower left ear and the S in the upper right of the vibrational field of the Tinnitus of God, with their ears placed in their hands, take them by their ossicle and from them in the curvilinear dawn that vibrates in what He only wants to do to them Dodeká).
Procorus  IV
sofolo Jan 2023
i saw a man
who held a garden
in his hand

i watched his
skin break open
like a plot of land

fractured root
sprouting into stem
a bead of blood &
the blossom began

tiny tomato
then two
spiderwebbed
in twine
a pepper grew

the sun shone
(too) brightly
that summer

a culling

razor wire
across the
dermal plane

“bring out
your dead”
she said
her cart
overflowing

i saw him look
back one last
time with
tired eyes

he witnessed a

poison apple
devoured
seeds and all
a new harvest
and a curtain call

as he was wheeled
away he thought
“i once held a
garden in my palm”

&
when the soil
encased him
he recalled
a living room fire
echoes
of a warm
song
Bryant Aug 2018
You are crank driven
A horseless carriage
Claded in bright aposematic ineptitude
Lacking modern conveniences

Sacrificing ulna and radius
Endeavoring pathos paved pathways
Posthumous attempts to reanimate your shrill stridulating passions

A mouribund effigy; a jaded figurine
Cubits, densely compressed and saliferous
Swaddled in a presageful glow
Emitted from the baleful blaze of your selfish structures

A fate befitting Edith's Lot

The ruination sweats your skin and dampens your intentions
Thermal dermal swelling
Blistering your membrane
Leaving you immobile at the foot of the Elysian ladder
Each rung strutting arrogantly upward
Loftily looming
Casting shade on a endless maelstrom

I must maintain a certain stride
My gait in a perpetual state of evasion
Deftly dodging pothole and snare

The landscape scrolls behind my silhouette, but the earth below me is less than glacial
I am transfixed

Breaching the wall of the squall

Its ceaseless variants of gray baffle and blur my vision

A wicked progenitor
Casting an opaquing shroud
It's moisture osmotically fills you with dysphoria​ and self doubt
Polluting your saccharine mixture
A homeostatic response
Propagating morose bitterness throughout

Transmuted; lewd, crude, and shapeless
Seeking to encapsulate
David R Jun 2021
if it's your pain i feel,
i'm living

crushed by heel
stronger than steel,
if i can forgive,
i'm living

hit by hand,
slipper and shoe,
crushed under stand
by bullying shrew,
if i'm surviving
i'm living

but those who delight
in offence and spite,
those who take joy
disturb to annoy,
those who take pleasure
in receipt of cringe,
needling at leisure
like dermal syringe

are dying

they see the morning light
but behold the mourner's night,
see white in Lady Moon
yet are deaf to her gentle tune,
though they breathe air of life,
their air's noxious as carver's knife,
as the shadows of twilight
that close in without respite.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge:
#receipt
jacob charles Jan 2021
The picture of a sound

...The picture of a sound
It paints that frame in your mind a form but not clearly defined
Your direction focuses but the articulation lacks lines
Then...the touch of a visual
Tell me how they’re adamant brazen but this bypasses dermal and in it goes
More than integral a rush out goes common intervals
Into rubbing blood pump your getting light-headed it goes-sump pump
Tell me how it goes sum up
You’re getting high there somewhere up
Then...the touch from that image into an emergent canvas with a collective color derived white
An utter stunning white splashes with you touching that image-the canvas it dashes
Painful painstaking beauty cutting lashes
You’re lapsing with each come-to with each pass it’s
Contained in your pupil your mind that thing it’s massive
You touch it and next second are amazed-you just had it
It melts over you oh so true laden
It’s true magic through and through, genesis Aladdin
You try to callous your heart for ballast do some padding
I would continue but it hurts...
Picture of a sound
Touch of a visual
Touch from that thing...you pick which first
jacob charles Sep 2020
The Word enlivens my veins
They team with life and fight red cells for space
The whole structure is like my dermal case
The words and meaning articulate like a face
It comes out of my mouth but not because I don’t like the taste
They like the taste
They copy and mimic and try to trace
I say it’s okay and reiterate like tre
Three points of the same
I’ll never incinerate and to those who ask I hand off my tray

— The End —